Yearning For Him
by Cunegonde de Warenne
Summary: Were they fate comrades? Andrea assumed he should feel some sort of gratitude toward the man. After all, without him, the young man certainly would be dead at the moment, or at least incarcerated for life. Monte Cristo x Andrea Smut!


Day 22! And, yes, this pairing is also... kinda meaningless

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"Come here, dear Count." Andrea was grinning lusciously at the taller man.

His naked body was lying leisurely on the king-sized bed, blond and wavy hair scattered on the silken sheets. Andrea was stretching his long and stunning legs on a pile of cushions. His skin, slightly tanned by the last three days he had spent on the coast, was glistening in the light of the chandelier, lustfully welcoming the unique spectator's silent stare; and his nonchalant posture – arms insouciantly sprawled on the pillows, impious smirk, lustful sapphire eyes, and chest heaving up and down on the rhythm of his excited breath – was leaving little room for imagination. A pale and cold hand made its way between the tender thighs, smooth fingernails sliding on the sensitive skin till they found the puckered ring of muscles, already stretched from the inside by the latest toy the blond had bought for Monte Cristo's delight. Slowly, the fingers moved to trail the probes' shape, the tips grazing lightly at it until they reached the blond's testicles, kneaded from their underside by the long vibrating stick.

The wide frame of the other man was overhanging the young man, drawing close enough to allow Andrea to listen to the agitated thumping of his heart. What a pitiful thing, his heart, Andrea thought, amused.

The Count was undergoing one of his fits again. And as he would do, from time to time, Andrea was "helping" him endure it, in his own way.

"Count, you don't have to be so hesitant." He said then swiftly pulled the older man's head to his chest. "You've paid an expensive price to have this body of mine, to adorn it and make it play with your other tools." Grinning, he theatrically swung his hands open, as if to emphasize on his offer then resumed, "It would be a waste not to use it to your heart's content. This depraved, corrupted, hateful body of mine."

The hands groping his ass had moved upper to play with his chest. They were nervous, trembling a little, yet extremely skillful in their "manipulation". Even though his breasts were as flat as a pancake, they kept on massaging the small bumps, copping them dearly in their palms until they got Andrea's nipples erect and begging to be sucked. One leg hooking around the Count's waist, urging the latter to come even closer, Andrea arched his back.

A shiver went down his spine when icy lips made contact with his heated aching peaks, and goosebumps covered his skin when he felt the older man's long and silky hair caress his torso.

"Aa… Count…" He moaned eagerly, throwing his head back on the pillow. The Count's tongue was working marvelously on him. Every time the other man would capture his right nipple between his lips, he could feel the wet appendage circling the aureole, kneading the stiff nub with its tip, licking, playing with it until it grew almost painful. The left nipple, too, had no reason to envy its twin. Not once did the long fingers stop teasing them, pinching and tugging them mercilessly until the quivering nub grew even more rigid under the Count's touch.

With those sources of stimulation only – the tongue licking at his nipples all together with the sex toy massaging both his prostate and perineum – Andrea's arousal was already pooling rapidly in his belly. He pitifully rubbed his half hard length against the Count's thigh to make the latter turn his attention to this part as well; however no response came from the man. It was as though his attention had been totally absorbed with the nipple sucking. Andrea couldn't help but grinned at him. The Count actually looked like a cat weaned too early.

"Do they taste that good, my nipples?" The blond panted amusedly. From this position, he could only see the top of the Count's head, but he was pretty sure the latter wasn't listening at all, given how the ministrations on his chest were growing more insistent by the second. "Mnh!... You really like doing that, don't you?... Haa… Sucking on them. Is it actually my nipples you love this much? Or is it possible that…" He paused, then his smirk grew wider, more cynical than ever. "This is actually what you wanted to do to that woman, the one you've fallen for when you were young?... Ngh… Ah, it feels so great, Count… No, I'm not wrong. When you're touching me, instead of my manly figure, do you imagine hers instead? That the one moaning your name in your bed is that person and no one else? That the one who's writhing under your hands, the one you're penetrating, the one whose cum will mix with yours, is her and no one else's? … Ah-aah…" Andrea whined lustfully when the taller man bit at one of his nipples. "You didn't have to do that, you know." He reprimanded. "I don't like it when it hurts… Well, it's not like this situation is bothering me, rather the contrary."

That's right. He wasn't waiting for anything from this man. Lust and depravation were their bonds. Andrea didn't care much about who the Count was dreaming about when they were fucking, as long as his body was there to pleasure him. He needed nothing else. All he wanted was the Count's hard dick thrusting in him and making him lose his mind in sheer bliss, once in a while. Sex with women had grown boring, all but disgusting. And sex with men was… Well, to be honest, the only idea of having some foul scum leaving their dirt in him could make him throw up with repugnance.

And yet, there was the Count. That poor, fate-driven, wreck of a man, Count of Monte Cristo. That man had never told anyone a single word about his past, not even his dear Haydee. The little he knew about that mysterious man was all Andrea's assumptions from what he had seen and heard from people around him. But even without this, Andrea could practically feel that smell on the older man: the smell of misfortune. No matter all the effort he deployed in expensive outfits, luxurious cars and sumptuous houses, the Count was reeking of it. However, that's maybe what had drawn him to this person in the first place, this common stench of misfortune.

How to put it correctly… Were they fate comrades? Andrea assumed he should feel some sort of gratitude toward the man. After all, without him, the young man certainly would be dead at the moment, or at least incarcerated for life. The Count hadn't only bestowed freedom upon him; he gave him his name – a fake name indeed, still a name, Andrea Cavalcanti – he gave him a past, a title and more money than he knew what to do with…. As a matter of fact, the Count had been more of a father to him than the real one. Oh, it's not as though it was something the blond could say out loud, Andrea was perfectly aware of that fact. No, if someone could claim that place, that would be, without doubt, _him_ …

"Mngh… Ahh! Count!" Andrea gasped and gripped hard at the pillows when the massager suddenly moved inside of him, rubbing pitilessly his sweetest spot. The blond held onto the older man's forearms while his ass was thrusting downward to deepen the lustful touch. The Count, on the other hand, just kept on staring at him, silent and motionless, breathing heavily at the being writhing shamelessly beneath him. "Count! Ah… Count…" Andrea moaned louder as the trail of the other male's heavy eyes eventually left his hole to set on his face.

How Andrea loved that stare of his. It had always marveled the blond how the Count could watch so intently at him without really _looking_ at him. The dark orbs were lost somewhere the man only knew, in foreign memories, in foreign landscapes, with people that weren't Andrea. It was so pitiful it made the latter grin wickedly. "Count, by chance… Aan… are you thinking about holding _him_ instead? (The older man backed a little) Ah. I knew it." With an impressive effort, Andrea sat up on the bed before embracing the Count tenderly in his arms, burying his face in the long and dark blue hair. "It's alright. Hold me just like how you'd hold him. Make love to me the way you would have wanted to make love to him… Or her. No? You're shaking? Are you afraid of being rejected? Well, I guess with him you wouldn't be allowed to do the things you used to do with me. It's one of the good points of having a personal whore within hand's reach, isn't it? Come on, Count." Unhurriedly, Andrea kneeled on his knees, then, crawling past Monte Cristo, he got all his all fours, ass vulgarly presented to the man. "Enjoy yourself."

Those words triggered the older man. Just like an automate, he drew close to the blond; at first he just ogled stupidly at the pale and firm buttocks, but after, little by little, his face came even closer until his lips met with the soft skin. Andrea jerked faintly at the contact. The Count's lips felt so warm on his cold cheeks, it felt weird. However, he had to get used to that sensation because the latter kept on reiterating the same thing again and again, his mouth leaving light and reverent kisses on the young man's ass while his hands were fondling the two generous curves, from time to time stroking the shivering hips or lowering down to rub the precious thighs.

Andrea loved that sensation. What he liked the most about it was the fact that the hands which where touching him had nothing to do with the usual soft and aristocratic hands he got used to hold and shake. No, they were strong and fairly calloused. Somehow, the blond wondered how they could have become like this; just what had the Count been doing in the past to leave his hands so damaged that even now they had kept the evidence of such harsh treatments?

"Count… please, Count… Put it in!" Out of patience, Andrea finally blurted. As a reply, the taller man just licked cautiously at his entrance – the probe still squirming inside.

Andrea could see nothing of what was happening behind; he could only guess what the Count was doing according to the cracking of the bed, the hot breath hitting his sensitive skin here and there, and the never-breaking contact of the taller man's hands. Suddenly, he felt the Count slotting something big and burning hot in the crack between the ass cheeks. Just like the good whore he pretended to be, the young man pushed his lower half backward, encouraging the other man to continue, and as he did he pulled the toy out. A stream of icy transparent lube gushed from his hole and poured on the bed.

"I'm ready, Count. You can take me now." Sticking his ass upper, his head resting on pillows and fingers reaching behind his back to stretch the reddened entrance, the blond panted. His heart started racing faster when he sensed the Count approaching him again, his engorged pole – the only thing in his body that still could get so warm – positioning itself before the tempting asshole.

With a slick thrust, it dipped in. Thanks to the previous foreplay, the Count slid inside pretty easily, and quickly reached the farthest places in the young man's ass. Andrea moaned at that familiar feeling – the feeling of having that hardness chafing fervently his sensitive walls, all the way rubbing at his sweetest spots, making his own erection grow bigger and bigger with anticipation, and those tensed balls crushed against his ass. The Count didn't immediately pull out. He just remained buried deep inside of him, barely waving his hips so that his shaft still was wriggling in the moist tightness.

"Aah, Count, so good…" Andrea's back was moving in unison with the light twisting. "It's so big and hard inside… Yes… Ah! Do it harder… Harder, Count! Aan…?"

Monte Cristo had brought one of his legs up, with a result that Andrea was now lying on his side on the bed. The young man could also fully watch the taller man breathing heavily, eyes as wild as a raging bull's fixed on him, as well as that lustful connection between their bodies. "What's wrong, Count? You can keep on like this, I don't mind. I told you, when you're with me, you can do everything you wouldn't be allowed to with others… So?" Andrea finished with a charming smile – even though it was diverging so much with what he was doing at the moment.

However, it looked like those words of encouragement were all the Count needed to pursue his deeds. Arms circling Andrea's upper legs, he slowly took his amazing penis out, drawing it back out until just the tip was still inside. The blond moaning excitingly when his eyes set on the dark and impressive engine that was being unconcealed inch by inch by its owner. The lube was making it glistening under the chandelier's light, and Andrea felt its obvious throbbing when it went past the young man's narrow hole. He himself was twitching at the sight, and he couldn't help but vaguely thrusting backward to make the Count's leaving his asshole last a little longer.

"Aah! Yes!" He yelped when once more the older man pushed inside, and in the same time grinded his ass down on the veiny shaft.

This time, the Count didn't stop anymore, nor was he contenting himself with those short and shallow thrusts. He went out again, but then rapidly filled the young man again. He moved in and out fast, and every time he would go in, his whole length was hitting his abused prostate time and again. The blond gritted his teeth at the intense gliding. Just how could he get tired of it? That maddening and constant friction, and the slickness of it, and all those sounds – the grunting, the panting and the slapping – which were coming from the taller man, oh, how could he get tired of them? Andrea couldn't collect his thoughts anymore. His hazy eyes would glance alternately at the face of the man who was fucking him, then their leaking arousals – his swinging gracelessly from his groin, and Monte Cristo's appearing and disappearing from his hole – before losing themselves in the colorful ceiling in complete bliss. Ah, it looked so beautiful now, that ceiling, the ceiling in the Count's bedroom. Even if they were living in the same place, Andrea had always preferred that room…

"Count… Count… it feels too great… Ah!… strong… You're fucking me so hard I'm losing it… Aan! Ha! Aa! Coming…! I'm coming!..."

Andrea tensed and his body convulsed painfully around the Count. He hastily grabbed his cock in his sweaty hand and, driving his butt backward, he pumped it – drily, he didn't mind – until spurts and spurts of semen shot in the lukewarm palm. The Count wasn't done, though, but just paused few seconds to let the blond come, before resuming his hammering.

"Ooh… Hasn't the shape changed a little, Count?" Even if his leg could barely support his weight, the young man kept on taunting the older one. "I feel it has c hanged a little… Aa!… are you going to come too? Go and come, my dear Count. Ah! Ah… Yes… I want to feel all of you up inside of me… Yes, go deeper… Ah!" The thick member was now penetrating the blond's ass deeper than before – and, it seemed, deeper than _ever_. Andrea squeezed his sphincter muscles, teasing the Count to madness. "I'm glad you were my first man… Nnmh… I'm glad, Count."

With a loud grunt, the taller man exploded in him. Andrea gasped when the hot liquid filled his tight tunnel, so tight it actually started surging outside and coating the young man's lower thigh. First load, then second… the third had been the last one before Monte Cristo collapsed on the bed, out of breath. Andrea, who was lying next to him, nonchalantly brushed few strands of wavy dark blue hair away from the older man's sweaty face.

"It felt good, didn't it?" He grinned at the man who only answered with a nod. "Now, do you want me to leave?"

Again, the same nod.

 **THE END**

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/tomorrow/ is... koumaki!


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